The Price of Freedom
by Medea34788
Summary: Two unconnected scenes dealing with the relationship between England and America - in both modern and revolutionary war eras.  No slash - just brotherly/parental-ness  and some war


**I do not own Hetalia, and do not make any profit off of this work. **

**The following two short scenes deal with the relationship between England and America in both modern and revolutionary times. They are unconnected (and for some reason in reverse order chronologically). The first could be seen as after the Spetember 11 attacks in NYC and Washington DC, or at another entirely made up scenario. The second follows shortly after the surrender of British forces at Yorktown, ending the American Revolution.**

**Questions, comments, and critiques are all welcome. Enjoy!**

**America - in modern times**

The two nations sat silently on either side of the large oak door, listening to the angry exclamations coming from behind it. This had been happening a lot recently; ever since that spring a few years ago… Alfred stole a glance at his companion trying to gauge his reaction to what was being said inside. The Brit was his usual stoic self though, not a hint of emotion escaping his emerald eyes.

Alfred could feel the tears building up in the corners of his eyes as the British Prime Minister continued his rant from inside the meeting room. He knew he wasn't perfect. He was a hero, yes. But even heroes shouldn't fight a war on so many sides. His people had lost focus, but he had not.

"That's it!" The two nations heard from right behind the door just as it was flung open and the British Prime Minister stormed through, "We're done here. I'll not be a part of this any longer. You're on your own, Mr. President. And may God help you all." A fleet of aides and advisors scampered after the fuming man, hiding the two nations from each other's sights. Finally the stream of people ended and Arthur and Alfred were left to stare at each other across the now seemingly endless expanse of the door frame.

America was pale, all the color drained from his cheeks and his usual manic smile dropped from his lips. Arthur stared calmly into the other nation's blue eyes, his own face as expressionless as a stone.

After a moment of silence, the smaller nation spun stiffly on his heel and moved to follow his boss out the door.

"Am I alone now Arthur?" Alfred called almost desperately after him.

England jerked to a stop, "This is what you wanted, what you fought for all those centuries ago…"

"No," Alfred sniffed, "I fought to be recognized, to be allowed to make my own choices… To grow up…"

Arthur turned and approached the larger nation. Alfred couldn't meet his eyes though, not wanting to see the anger or disappointment sure to be reflected in them.

"And you have grown up, Alfred." Arthur stated softly, taking America's chin in his hands and gently forcing the younger nation to meet his eye. "You've become larger and stronger than I'd ever imagined. But you're still young, and bound to make mistakes. You can't fix everything that's wrong in the world, no matter how much you want to. When you're a bit older you'll understand better I think…"

"You mean if I live that long," Alfred muttered, mocking England's usual taunt that America would get itself killed fighting everyone else's wars for them. Tears were welling up in blue eyes as he spoke.

Arthur smiled softly and reached up, placing a soft kiss on the younger nation's forehead. "I'll not let you fall that easily, my boy. This fight isn't the end, I'll not turn my back something I spent so long building up – not again… Not even if you _are_ an ungrateful twat." Green eyes danced with concealed laughter as the older nation tried to tease his younger counterpart out of his melancholy mood.

"I'm not your boy anymore Arthur, I'm my own nation now – not a childish colony to be protected…" Alfred sniffed, a scowl beginning to form on his face.

"Perhaps you're not a child anymore Alfred, but that doesn't make you any less _my_ child. No matter how old you get, how strong you get, (or how obnoxiously loud and annoying you get,) that fact will never change." The smaller nation pressed his forehead lightly against the other's.

"These men, our bosses, come and go," England whispered, "but we are more than our governments America, we are our people, the ideals and dreams of every one of our citizens. And we will always be connected by that which we hold dearest: that freedom is not merely a right, but a fleeting dream that must be fought for – protected. A dream that is given to all without restraint, yet must be earned to be truly appreciated."

Tears streaked down the lager nation's pale cheeks. "You… You…" Alfred choked back sobs as he tried to speak, but to no avail. He leaned into Arthur, burying his face in the older nation's stomach as he fell to his knees and sobbed, "I don't want to be alone again…"

England pressed one hand into America's wild blond locks as the younger nation continued to sob. Arthur locked eyes with his boss. The man had turned around at some point, likely wondering what was holding his country back. The Prime Minister could only silently watch the by-play of the two nations personified. He knew he was no real student of history so he never imagined the depth of that history's impact on either nation.

It was strange to think about it – his nation as a person. Grudges and rivalries took on such a human note. Alliances with former enemies became much rockier when affronts were against a person, instead of a people. But the relationship between England and America… that was definitely something he had never understood at all.

For the Prime Minister's entire life, America had been a superpower, butting in on everyone else's business and telling everyone what to do. To him it had always been this way – America bailing out England in World War II, fighting back against Communist Russia, aiding every country that claimed to want freedom and even some who didn't. It wasn't until right then that he understood America's own reasons.

Raised by England, America couldn't help but want for freedom. It was something that the English had imbued them with. But America hadn't inherited England's aloof nature, the isolation being an island nation gave, and so tried valiantly (and often vainly) to become friends with every other nation and spread that freedom across the world. In the grand scheme of things though America was still so young, and didn't understand that the American version of freedom was not universal. The fire of freedom had to be lit in the hearts of the people before the nation could embrace it, and even then a freedom not earned through blood and sweat and tears was never held as tightly as one that was handed over peacefully.

When you looked at it in that light, America was an awe inspiring sight. A nation of people willing to shed their own blood for the freedom of another, to shed tears of sorrow and of pain for every single being who would share that American dream of freedom, to toil and sweat and give all they had to build a world where everyone is free.

A shiver ran up the Prime Minister's spine. That dream, the dream of freedom, was all that the crying boy wanted to share. No political maneuverings, no ulterior motives, no hidden agendas – just a desire to share his greatest treasure with the rest of the world. England's Prime Minister had never thought of America as being young or simple (or, god forbid, naive), but it was.

* * *

**England – following the surrender at Yorktown**

Kneeling before his boss, uniform still splattered with mud, and sweat, and blood, Arthur couldn't help but mentally cringe. Here was the King – the King of bloody England – berating his own country for Cornwallis's surrender. As if it was Arthur's fault his generals couldn't win. England had not done enough in the King's eyes – though it was his boss who had refused to take the threat seriously at first. America may have been an upstart, ungrateful little git, but he was strong. And if his boss wouldn't heed Arthur's advice, then Arthur would feel no need to heed his boss's complaints.

England smothered a scowl. These Hanoverian Kings, they were so… _Germanic_. Even Cromwell's Civil War hadn't left as bad a taste in his mouth as these years of being bossed around by men barely capable of speaking his tongue. At least Cromwell had been British. This line of royals was so far removed from what it meant to be British that is was no wonder Alfred felt the need to break away – Arthur would like to do the same some days if he was given the choice. But the man was his boss, and he (like all human bosses) would one day be replaced by another. Each generation became more and more integrated into English society and tradition. England had no qualms with growing and adjusting to the styles and customs of his sovereigns – but only to an extent.

There were some things that a nation could not, would not, ever change. Rights and ideals inherent in their very beings; for Italy it was his love of art and food, for Prussia his strength, for Russia his thirst for conquest, and for America it was his dream of freedom. And now America was free, in a sense.

With the upcoming treaty negotiations to work out, America would see what it was like to be treated as a sovereign nation. To be responsible for his own actions, with no one to turn to if he got into a fight or scuffle with one of his neighbors, or needed to buy food or clothing. England couldn't help the smirk that formed on his lips. Alfred would be paying for his freedom for a long time yet. The price of such a large dream had not yet been fulfilled – even if the upstart nation didn't realize it yet.


End file.
